Pom Pom Mountain
We drank cheap beer in a rusted out shed.
Buzzing before our 8:00AM English class.
Trying to be cool- to fit with the "Ins."
Instead, were becoming the wobbling outcasts.
Spinning further out from the golden Ins.
Ah the golden center.
Filled with jocks, cheerleaders.
A chorus line of silver thighs and golden pom poms.
Smiling at my pimpled insecurities?
But your long bomb popularity didn't stop that tree.
From slamming into your popularity.
It didn't move aside as you passed on by.
Like I used to move aside as you past by me.
You were popular in that narrow hallway of slow death called adolescence.
Now your football helmet is yellow and cracked.
Destined for a garage sale. Bottom shelf existence.
On the periphery of forgotten.
You with the pom poms and patented dimples.
Nowhere near that cocky cute kitten anymore.
Turned plump, pregnant, abandoned, aborted.
What happened to that sweet cotton tail and golden lips?
That used to pip "you'll never be with me".
Finally, after forty plus years.
You're lying with me ..figuratively.
Spread eagle atop pom pom mountain.
An outcast on the periphery of everything.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2016
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